


The Kids Aren't Alright (Namely, Patrick)

by angelofthedamnlord



Series: post!ybc [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Pete and Patrick are married you should also know that, Peterick (Established Relationship) - Freeform, Post The Youngblood Chronicles, Trohley (mentioned), author sucks at tagging, haha whoops I keep hurting Patrick, idk how to tag, loosely based off of lucifersneezing's fic, ybc happened and now it's present day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5865634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelofthedamnlord/pseuds/angelofthedamnlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So basically YBC happened and the boys were revived and stuff. Patrick still doesn't have his hand and they've all been living together ever since trying to sort out their lives again. It's been three years-ish since they got back and AB/AP came out. And lucifersneezing, if you ever see this I hope you like it (and also don't get mad that I used the universe from I got troubled thoughts, and the self-esteem to match. for this fic)!</p><p>PS go read lucifersneezing's fic if you haven't-----> https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091881</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Kids Aren't Alright (Namely, Patrick)

**Author's Note:**

> So basically YBC happened and the boys were revived and stuff. Patrick still doesn't have his hand and they've all been living together ever since trying to sort out their lives again. It's been three years-ish since they got back and AB/AP came out. And lucifersneezing, if you ever see this I hope you like it (and also don't get mad that I used the universe from I got troubled thoughts, and the self-esteem to match. for this fic)!
> 
> PS go read lucifersneezing's fic if you haven't-----> https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091881
> 
> Enjoy!

Silence The Noise fucked them up _good_. Pete was willing to admit that. They still had panic attacks, they still suffered from PTSD, Patrick only had one goddamn hand. They all died and were resurrected by God Himself (who looked like Elton John for some fucking reason) to defeat some ultimate evil, and if that wasn’t enough to cause severe psychological damage then nothing would. And he knew it would never stop.

But, at the same time, they were sort of okay. Despite nearly being killed because of it, Fall Out Boy continued to make music. They channeled their pain and emotion into a new album, and when _Save Rock And Roll_ came out, it was the most success they’d had yet. And three years later, after multiple tours and _American Beauty/American Psycho_ ’s release, the boys had basically recovered. They had each other. Patrick and Pete got married, Andy and Joe were engaged (had been since before the whole mess, nobody knew why they didn’t just go through with it already, but it was none of their business). It had been a while since anyone had even had an “episode” (that was Andy’s careful nickname for any trauma related freak out). Things were going well.

But the thing with mental illnesses and trauma: they’re unpredictable.

Andy and Joe were out for the weekend at some vegan thing a few towns over, so Pete and Patrick had the whole house to themselves. The Wentz-Stumph’s day consisted of sitting around in their pyjamas, eating more delivery pizza than two men should be able to and marathoning some show about two brothers who fight monsters and hang out with an angel (and Pete totally did _not_ cry over the shorter brother dying even though he comes back anyways, shut the fuck up Patrick). The day dwindled away fast, and as they closed off a season of the show it was nearly midnight. Pete noticed the singer dozing off on his shoulder and nudged him softly. Slowly, the bassist led a half-conscious Patrick up the stairs.

When the couple reached their room, Patrick practically collapsed on the bed. He tried to throw his right arm over his face dramatically, but ended up just hitting his nose pretty hard. Pete laughed.

“Shut up.” The singer muttered, but it was muffled by his elbow. Pete grinned fondly, sitting down on the bed and taking the other arm in his lap. He carefully took Patrick’s prosthetic hand off, gently sliding it down his forearm to reveal his wrist, which was cut at a strange angle from the vixens’ butcher knife. Setting the hand aside, the older man bent his husband’s arm gently at the elbow and kissed the jagged scar at the tip. He felt the singer turning his head.

“I love you,” Patrick said sleepily, “I love you so much.” Pete looked down at him and smiled.

“I love you more.” Came Pete’s reply. Placing the prosthetic on the nightstand beside him, the older man laid down on his side, facing Patrick. His husband chuckled, rolling over as well.

“I doubt that.” The singer smirked.

“You wanna bet?” The bassist challenged. Patrick lifted himself onto one elbow.

“Try me.” Pete grinned devilishly, crawling on top of Patrick and straddling his hips. The younger man surged upwards and they met halfway, crashing their lips together passionately. Patrick’s hand curled into his husband’s bleach blonde hair and Pete’s pressed into the mattress below them for balance. The singer’s other arm wrapped around the bassist’s waist, pulling him down. Pete fell to his elbows as Patrick laid back down on the bed, and the older man’s hands tangled into the other’s reddish strands.

The two broke off for air, pressing their foreheads together as Pete’s hands came to frame Patrick’s face. The bassist opened his eyes to see beautiful green ones already staring at him, and he was breathless again just from Patrick’s loving gaze. Pete took a deep breath, taking in the moment. It was fucking _perfect_.

Then Patrick yawned and Pete had to laugh.

“It’s time to get you to sleep.” The bassist giggled. Patrick tried to scowl, but it dissolved into a smile of his own. The singer toed his socks off as Pete rolled off of him. The older man shoved his pyjama pants off and tossed them in the general direction of their hamper, leaving himself in boxers and his _Metallica_ tank top. He rolled back over to face Patrick, who was already blinking sleepily, yet insisted on waiting until Pete was asleep. (It was an old habit, Pete supposed, from when his head would be too goddamn loud back in the early 2000’s and Patrick would help him to fall asleep, always looking out and caring for Pete before himself. Even with all of the shit that went down in their lives a few years ago, that was a constant.)

Pete tangled their legs together and sighed, throwing an arm over Patrick’s hip. The singer smiled, and leaned forward to kiss Pete softly again. It only lasted a second, and Pete dropped his head to his pillow.

“Night, ‘Trick.” He muttered, shoving his other arm under the pillow.

“Night Pete. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Pete knew Patrick wouldn’t shut his eyes until he did, so the last thing he saw before drifting off was Patrick’s silhouette glowing dimly around the edges from the moonlight. He fell asleep with a smile.

◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

It wasn’t until around 4AM that things took a bad turn. Pete was stirred by Patrick moving. And Pete would’ve just gone back to sleep, because being woken up by Patrick going for a drink was normal and usually he stopped moving in a few seconds, but this was different. He didn’t stop. Confused, but dreading the worst, Pete lifted his head.

Patrick was lying on his back, eyebrows scrunched together but eyes still closed. His breaths were clipped and heaving. The singer thrashed around on the bed, muttering things under his breath. Pete watched dumbly, frozen. Patrick hadn’t had a nightmare in a while. And this looked like it was really fucking intense.

“N-no…shit plea- _Pete_ … Get the _fuck_ off of me…” Patrick’s voice got louder, and he began shaking. His left arm twitched where it laid on his torso, as if he were trying to fend something off. His eyes slid open for a second, though he was still trapped in the dream, and Pete could’ve sworn he saw a glimmer of gold. “No… I’m not going to… hurt him… _NO_!” The singer yelled, slightly less human than when he was just talking. The bassist was seemingly snapped out of a trance at the growl in the younger man’s tone. He shook Patrick’s shoulder tentatively.

“Babe?” Pete tried to say, but Patrick roared, fucking roared like an animal, and the bassist propped himself up on an elbow, shaking his husband more frantically. “'Trick?! Patrick!” Pete yelled. The younger man was seriously scaring him. The singer kicked and squirmed, still caught in the throes of his nightmare. “ _PATRICK_!!!”

Patrick’s wild eyes snapped open, his breathing hard. He focused on Pete, and in only a few seconds flat he had the older man pinned to the bed, hand curled around Pete’s neck. The singer had his left arm raised in a threat, as if he still had the hook attached to his wrist. Having been shoved back on the bed roughly, Pete had the wind knocked out of him. He tried to suck in a hoarse breath, but couldn’t, and his hands flew up to try and loosen Patrick’s death grip. His stomach dropped when his frantic gaze moved from Patrick’s raised arm to his face. He was right.

Patrick’s eyes were _yellow_.

Fucking glowing, ugly yet mesmerizing yellow.

The terror of the situation registered with Pete. What if Patrick went in search of a weapon? No, no he wouldn’t do that, he was Patrick…or was he? Pete didn’t know what the yellow eyes actually meant. Back in 2013, he just figured it made the singer hate music, but what did it do with his brain? His thoughts? Was Patrick possessed? Did he know who Pete was? Did he even know who he _himself_ was?

Pete’s thoughts were cut short by a startled choke above him. Patrick looked from the bassist to his raised arm in horror. The glow slowly died, but the yellow in his irises remained. Patrick’s grip on Pete’s neck relaxed and his breath started to shake. He practically shoved himself off of the older man, falling back on the bed and scrambling away.

“'Trick, honey, no-” Pete tried. Patrick choked out a half sob, cutting the bassist off.

“ _Oh my god_!” The singer squeaked, backing up across the room. He bumped into the dresser by the opposite wall and jumped. Pete watched with sad eyes as his husband , trying to find purchase with his left hand but forgetting it wasn’t even fucking there. The younger man fell against the surface of the dresser, catching himself at the last minute with his other arm. A small hand mirror lay on top of the furniture and Patrick’s face crumbled when he saw his own reflection. “ _NO_!”

Pete started shoving the blankets (which had miraculously stayed on the bed despite Patrick’s kicking) off to walk over, but Patrick put his hand out, leaning heavily against the dresser.

“S-stay there. Please.” The younger man gasped, backing away further. Pete stilled, eyes never leaving Patrick’s face. Tears streaked down the singer’s cheeks and he fell into the corner of the room, sliding down the wall with a sob and bringing his knees to his chest. Slowly, Pete started to move again. Patrick choked. “ _I said stay over there_!” He roared inhumanly, eyes glowing furiously again. The bassist jumped slightly, and his husband brought his hand to his mouth, finally breaking. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh my fucking god.” He sobbed. Pete stopped once more.

He watched in silence as Patrick reached up onto the dresser, feeling around for the little mirror. He brought it back down and was met with his own startling, yellow gaze. The younger man breathed raggedly, nearing a panic attack.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt _you_.” Patrick whispered to Pete, who still sat on the bed. Patrick cradled his left arm to his chest and let the mirror drop out of his hand. He dissolved into wracking sobs, burying his face in his hand.

Carefully, to avoid making too much noise, Pete lowered himself to the floor. Patrick stayed in the corner, sniffling softly. Then, like a cat, the bassist slowly began crawling towards his husband. He would stop and sit every time Patrick made a sound, keeping his face calm in case the singer looked up. Pete crawled, then sat, then watched. The bassist was nearly to him when Patrick raised his gaze to the ceiling, the moonlight illuminating the tear trails on his face. His eyes were their beautiful green again, but the yellow just around the pupil served as a threat.

“You shouldn’t come any closer, Pete.” Patrick said, voice cracking on his husband’s name. The older man stopped inching forwards again, falling back on his knees.

“Why not?” Pete asked carefully, keeping his gaze on the younger man. Patrick sighed, letting another tear slip down his cheek as he closed his eyes.

“Because you’ll get hurt. I’ll do something. I’ll lose control.” Came the singer’s whispered response. “I don’t want to kill you.” Patrick whimpered. Pete was about to respond when the singer continued to speak.

“Not again.”

Pete’s eyes grew foggy and he blinked hard against the welling tears, trying to stay calm. His heart was racing, despite his best efforts to slow it. He took a deep breath and began crawling again. After a moment, Pete finally got to the corner, settling in front of Patrick, who still had his eyes closed. He slowly shifted, bringing his legs forwards to cross them. Carefully keeping his distance (for Patrick’s sake more than his own), he sat with him.

They sat in silence for a while (Pete counted six minutes, because all he was doing was staring at the clock). Patrick’s breathing finally went back down to a normal speed, and he sniffed. The older man shuffled forward just a little bit, eyes locked on the singer’s face. His eyes didn’t open. Then carefully, oh so fucking carefully, Pete lifted his right hand and gently grabbed on to Patrick’s. He adjusted just so that Patrick could see the golden wedding band perfectly (Pete always wore his wedding band on his right hand, since Patrick had to). The younger man tensed, eyebrows knitting together. Pete got ready to pull away, but the cold hand intertwined with his squeezed softly. Patrick slid his eyes open slowly, tension melting out of his shoulders. The singer’s face crumbled again, and he lifted Pete’s hand slightly to press a kiss to the ring.

“You won’t hurt me. I trust you.” Pete muttered, leaning towards Patrick. The younger man chuckled darkly.

“You shouldn’t.” Patrick replied, emotion drained from his voice.

“There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t do. But I couldn’t care less.” The bassist rubbed his thumb along Patrick’s knuckles. His husband’s eyes lifted from their hands to his face, and a glimmer of hope dared to shine in the back of them. Pete smiled, taking Patrick’s hand and pulling it towards him. He pressed soft kisses to each of his fingers, speaking periodically.

“We’re never going to fully be okay.”

Kiss.

“Because I know those girls did some crazy shit to us.”

Kiss.

“Mainly you.”

Kiss.

“But no matter what they did to your body or your head.”

Kiss.

“I still love you. Andy and Joe still love you.”

Kiss. Pete glanced up to see Patrick watching him carefully.

“And we’re never gonna fucking stop. _You aren’t a monster_ , Patrick.”

Patrick shifted, keeping his loose grip on Pete’s hand. The younger man brought his knees down, uncurling his arm from his chest. Pete leaned down and kissed it, too. Patrick took a deep, quavering breath, then let himself be pulled into his husband's arms.

“I’m so sorry.” Patrick muttered. The older man shushed him.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay.” Pete replied. Patrick nodded, hiding his face in Pete’s neck. The bassist rocked them back and forth soothingly, humming into his ear.

“Panda?” Patrick whispered. Pete’s eyes widened slightly at the old nickname.

“Yeah, Lunchbox?” The bassist asked. The younger man turned up to look him in the eye.

“I… I think I’m ready to go back to bed. If you’re okay with sleeping in the same bed, that is.” Pete laughed quietly.

“Of course I am. Let’s go, love.” Pete said. Patrick pressed his lips to Pete’s hesitantly, then let himself be half-lifted carefully off the ground by his husband. They walked back over to the bed, and the singer laid back down on his side. Pete crawled into the bed, pulling the blankets up and over them both. Patrick grabbed Pete’s hand again, loosely knitting their fingers together. The older man grinned, and for the first time that morning, the other returned it, if tentatively.

“Honey is for bees, silly bear…” Pete sang softly, watching Patrick’s eyes slide closed. His breathing evened out and Pete sighed. He leaned over and kissed Patrick on the cheek. “I love you so fucking much.” Pete closed his eyes when he heard a soft “I love you more” come from the other man.

And there were no more nightmares that night.


End file.
